I descend the decrescendo of the long weekend, coming down from a serious live music hype to the steady tempo of office and house work. We methodically return to a rhythm of pseudo-normalcy; watering plants, washing laundry, answering emails, and brushing out the dog. Balio has hit the peak of shedding season and fluffy white fur is coming off of him in sheets and clumps. Rufus takes a brush to him this afternoon and basically carpets the front lawn white. We joke that his hair is premium nest building material for the songbirds waiting in the treetops. We’ve often found nests with Balio’s hair weaved in amongst grasses, sometimes comprising the entire nest. Mother birds find his undercoat to be the perfect lining for their babies first landing. Balio watches the cheeping branches for the unfortunate baby bird whose second landing drops into his “snack zone”. It’s a strange symbiosis.